Predators
by piratepissoff
Summary: <html><head></head>Sam and Dean pick up a case at a Country Club in Maine involving a basilisk: a half-human, half-snake shapeshifter that can kill its victims with a single glance. Meanwhile, Bela's at the Club as well, but she's got her own agenda to take care of; one that happens to tie in with the Winchester brothers' case-at-hand. Bela/Dean undertones.</html>
1. She-Devil

A hunter (or two), a thief, and a snake. They're all predators, in their own little ways.

**A/N: **This is a case-fic, with a little Bela/Dean splashes here and there. Maybe some fluff, but no real relationship type stuff. This is mainly a fic for humor and some Bela/Dean flirting and arguing, while Sam is stuck trying not to lose his patience with either of them. Poor him.

Furthermore, this story is not connected to any of my other Dean/Bela fics.

Also, i'm only going to post the first chapter for now. If you guys want more, then I'll post and start working on some more. In other words, **leave reviews/comments below ordering me to continue this fic!**

* * *

><p>The boys hung around their run-down motel room; Dean lying flat on one of the two queen-sized beds and tossing an old baseball back and forth in the air, singing out of tune to some old rock song playing on the radio beside him; and Sam sitting at a table a few feet away, typing away at his laptop and desperately—for probably the third day in the row—looking for a case for them to get their hands on.<p>

They had bagged their last case nearly a week ago and, without any alternatives to seek after, stayed in New Jersey for a few more days in search of another case to solve and another monster to kill. So far, they had no such luck. In fact, the only thing productive they had did the past few days was eat more than their fair share of junk food and binge-watch whatever series Lifetime had been playing non-stop for forty-eight hours. Sam thought it was ridiculous; Dean secretly enjoyed it.

Sam briefly perked up as he found an ad for a case involving a Wendigo, but then just as quickly slumped back down in his chair once the link took him to a advertisement for a porn website. He let out a huff of breath, but this wasn't the first time that week that they had gotten their hopes up on a faulty case only to have them beat down moments later. There were rumors of a werewolf sighting somewhere in Nebraska, but the signs pointed towards a bear more often than not, and there was also a reported haunting at an old house in rural New York, but there wasn't enough concrete evidence to prove that the house was actually haunted—and even so, Sam and Dean both had a big feeling that the story was just a tale conjured up by a bunch of bored, entitled teenagers. Many of the other cases they came across seemed just as woolly, and soon the brothers were on the verge of making up their own bastard to hunt just to keep themselves from going insane.

One night, though, just as Dean was coming out of the shower, he found his brother grinning like an idiot as he jotted something down on a notepad and enthusiastically snapped his cell phone shut.

Dean gave him a look. "What the hell's got into you?" he paused, then smirked amusedly. "Is it something I can catch and exorcise in a Devil's Trap?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "Not funny," before continuing to his news. "Bobby called. He has a case for us."

Dean's face immediately lit up. "Awesome!" He half-sang, pumping his fist in the air animatedly. "Well, what is it?"

"Bobby think's it's a basilisk. There've been reports of a couple mysterious deaths up in Maine; two bodies have been found over the past week and a half—and get this: both of them had their eyes, and the skin around them, unusually and severely burned." He reported, reading from the notepad gripped in his hand. "We've never hunted a basilisk before."

"Dad has," Dean noted, trying to think back to anything he read in their father's journal on the notorious creature. "They're noted for killing their victims with a single glare, right? That would probably explain the eyeball burns."

Sam nodded. "Local authorities can't pinpoint the origins of the burns, so it's most likely that a basilisk _was _the cause of it."

Dean thought for a moment, his hand curled around his chin before tapping it once and smiling broadly. "Alright, then. Let's go bag us a basilisk."

* * *

><p>"It wouldn't have bothered you to tell me <em>where <em>in Maine we were going, Sammy?" Dean angrily growled, keeping his voice low enough for only his brother to hear as clusters of uppity Barbie-and-Ken socialites swept back and forth past them.

"I didn't want to risk you turning our only solid-enough case down just because you couldn't handle wearing decent clothes for a couple of days," Sam whispered back, nudging his brother in the side as he smiled at a passing elderly couple.

Dean snapped his head to the side to glare at him. "What're you talking about? I have a great wardrobe."

Twelve hours ago the two were packing up and saying goodbye to Jersey, loading the Impala with all of their clothes and weaponry before driving over eight hours up into Maine, where Sam made Dean let him drive for the last two hours because he refused to tell his elder brother where they were going. Dean was weary of his brother's intentions and their impending location, and as they now stood in the lobby of The Woodlands Club in Falmouth, Maine, he soon realized that he had every right in the world to be.

Dean pulled at the collar of his argyle golf sweater and desperately hated himself**—**and _Sam_, damn him—for the polo shirt he was wearing just underneath. His younger brother had gotten off a bit luckier as he stood in a short-sleeved button down, but Dean thanked god that he hadn't been forced to wear those awful shorts that Sam's long legs poked out under. He would've snickered to himself at the sight of Sam's goofy, tall-and-lanky stature, but right before he could he was dragged over to the reception desk by the goofy, tall-and-lanky bastard himself with a little more force than Dean thought was necessary.

Fortunately for Dean, however, the receptionist was big-eyed and pretty. Before he could project any of his charm on her, though, Sam cleared his throat and cut him off.

"Yeah, hello. We'd like to book a room for the week," Sammy greeted, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet.

"Absolutely," the receptionist nodded before her fingers hesitated over the computer keyboard, her eyes darting between the boys anxiously. "Uh, would that be one bed, or...?"

Dean snapped his head up, slightly flustered. "No! Two—that'll be _two _beds."

Sam handed the receptionist one of his many credit cards before giving his brother a look, and soon they were leaving the desk with their room keys and bags, trudging over to the elevators across the lobby.

"Why does everyone seem to think we're boyfriends?" Dean agitatedly asked inside the elevator, right as the doors sealed shut before them.

* * *

><p>The suite that they were staying in was a <em>very <em>refreshing alternative to the normal shabby motel rooms they usually took stock in, and as soon as they stepped inside, Dean immediately jumped in the air and plopped down on the bed that Sam presumed he had already deemed his.

"Woah, is this a _down _comforter?" Dean nearly gasped as the bed's blanket rose up around him, and his fingers groped at the white fabric at his sides. "And is this a _Tempur-Pedic_ mattress? Holy, this is gonna do wonders to my back."

"Dude, we aren't here for the beds," Sam calmly chided, walking over to a sleek black desk on the other side of the room and already pulling out his laptop. "We have to focus on finding the basilisk. We know it's here because both bodies showed up on the Woodlands' property."

"Ah, right," Dean sighed, suddenly forgetting that, not too long ago, he was very excited at the thought of hunting down the basilisk. "The half-human, half-snake crossbreed."

"It's a shapeshifter, Dean," Sam said, typing away on his laptop. "Kind of."

"It's a human whose skin _sometimes _looks scaly and whose eyes _sometimes _resemble that of a snakes' and whose teeth _sometimes _form into fangs," Dean shot back, making miniature comforter angels on top of the bed. "Right. Totally doesn't sound like a snake to me."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, but proceeded to read aloud from his computer nonetheless. "Says here that there are many ways we can single a basilisk out from a crowd. This one says basilisks sometimes lose grip on their shapeshifting and parts of their skin may start to look scaly, most particularly the hot spots. So, you know, like the palms, or the elbow pits, or the back of someone's neck. Another method is using weasel urine. Apparently that's one of the basilisks' most common weaknesses."

At this, Dean's face screwed up in a "what-the?" expression, and Sam simply shrugged in response before going on. "If weasel urine comes in contact with the basilisk's skin, it'll burn instantly—I imagine similarly to how the basilisk can burn its victims' eyes."

Sam scrolled down a bit more, then made a satisfied "ah" sound. "Alright, well, this method sounds easy enough. Says here that basilisks sometimes emit a skunk-like odor."

"So, what, we go around sniffing everyone until we find someone that needs to take a nice dip in a vat of tomato juice? C'mon, man, that's not a great plan."

"I guess so, Dean, unless you got any better approaches in mind." Sam snapped back, his impatience reaching its limit.

Dean's jaw clenched as he jerked his eyes away, trying to rack his mind for any substitutions. When it became clear that he had nothing, Sam clapped his hands together in finality and stood up.

"Right, then. We'll try the scent tactic first. If that doesn't work, we'll figure out another idea tomorrow. Until then, let's work on finding the guy, or girl, huh? Let's go downstairs and mingle; try to get a feel for the people."

Dean grumbled as he reluctantly got up from the bed. "I'd hardly call those _things _down there people. I mean, do you see the way they laugh?"

"Yeah, I saw them all the time during my days at Stanford. I know how to handle them well enough." Sam responded, swiping his room key up from the end table positioned between the two beds. "Look, just act like you're better than everyone else and you'll probably fit in. Oh, and don't talk like you've just stepped out of a dive bar, okay?"

"Alright, alright, I got it," Dean barked, impatient. "Let's just get this over with. I can't wait to get out of this straight jacket I have on."

"Dean, it's a sweater."

"Same goddamn thing. Ugh, let's go already." Dean practically stomped out the door, leaving his brother in the dust as he made his way back to the elevators. Once they got back down to the lobby, the two agreed to split up and search either half of the resort on their own, with Dean immediately calling dibs on the pool area, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as Sam gave him an eye roll and reluctantly agreed to take up the workout center and its surrounding areas on the other side of the club. They arranged to meet back up withing the next couple of hours, or until either of them found the basilisk.

"And remember, the basilisk isn't guaranteed to be a guest. He or she could also be a staff member," Sam prompted, just before he and his brother divided.

Dean rolled his eyes as Sammy disappeared down an opposite hall, grumbling under his breath as he walked off from the elevators himself and towards the double doors leading to the pool deck. As soon as he stepped outside, his mood immediately brightened as a pair of twenty-something year-old girls in bikinis walked past him, looking him over with salicious expressions before bending their heads together in gossip. Dean smirked to himself, satisfied, before pulling at his shirt collar once more and striding over to the pool bar with a grin.

"Hello, sir. Anything I can get you?" The bartender, a young kid with dark hair matted down to his forehead, smiled up at Dean once he approached.

Without thinking, Dean nodded. "Yeah, let me get a Bud Li—" he caught himself, smiling quickly, and cleared his throat. "A scotch. On the rocks, if you would."

The kid nodded and as he turned his back to prepare the drink, Dean's face burned, and not because of the sun beating down on him, but because he was putting a lot of effort into being someone that he was not. He would have killed to be in a pair of jeans and one of his old T-shirts instead of the god forsaken get-up he had on now, but he was more or less undercover and he had to stick to the act, lest he wanted the basilisk to become paranoid and slink off into the night. Besides, Sammy would kill him if he blew the case.

The bartender gave him his drink and Dean tipped him five bucks—earning him a slight glare that went by him completely unnoticed—before turning around and striding over to a small group of middle-aged couples, pretending to be simply walking by but actually putting his attention on trying to get a whiff of any skunk-like odor. He also craned his eyes downwards and tried to find any scaly patches of skin, but when the group managed to check out, he took a long sip of his scotch and moved on.

Dean spent another forty-five minutes or so inspecting every single person lounging about on the pool deck, springing up from his seat when someone new entered the area to investigate only to sit back down moments later, annoyed, when that person proved not to be a half-human, half-snake son-of-a-bitch.

Believe it or not, Dean had begun to get bored with all of the prissy, half-naked and Botox-induced women strolling around the pool when a new girl in a nice white bikini he hadn't noticed emerged out of the crystal-clear water, cinnamon brown hair sleek and cascading down a nice, slender back. Dean's eyes were practically popping out of his head as he watched the woman stroll over to her lounge chair and sit down, sunglasses perched on her nose and gold earrings dangling from her ears.

He continued to watch the woman as she searched for something in her tote. He couldn't see what it was, but before he could manage to make it out, his cell phone was ringing in his pocket.

Irritated with the distraction, he yanked the cell out of his slacks' pocket and held it up to his hear. "Yeah, what? Sammy, you find anything?"

"In the future, you should really check your caller ID before answering your phone. Sadly, I am not your brother."

His ears perked and his face immediately churned into a scowl. Dean knew that accent like he knew the back of his hand, or like he knew he loved bacon cheeseburgers, or like he knew he hated the goddamn woman currently speaking to him. His hand slowly tightened around his phone and his lips pressed into a thin, white line as she impatiently sighed on the other end, waiting for him to reply.

"Bela. What the hell do you want?" He growled through clenched teeth.

"Oh, I was just wondering why you stared at me the entire way from walking out of the pool and over to my lounge. That's quite rude, you know. The least you could have done was say 'hi'."

At this, Dean's head snapped up and his eyes darted over to the woman in the white bikini, who, in fact, was not just a woman, but also a British she-devil named Bela Talbot, and she currently had a cell phone of her own pressed up to her ear, while she used her other hand to wiggle her fingers in Dean's direction. She then crooked them in a come-hither motion that, after a rough closing of his phone and string of curses being released under his breath, he reluctantly obliged to.

After he had stomped over to her lounge, where he refused to sit down and instead opted to loom over her kicked back figure, an amused smile crossed Bela's lips. He immediately wanted to reach down and pry her mouth off her face and throw it somewhere else, preferably in the pool, but he refrained from doing so and instead continued to glare at her.

Bela's smile soon dropped and she rolled her eyes, sighing exasperatingly. "Oh, please. You're going to burst a blood vessel at the rate you're going. Sit _down_, Dean."

But instead of sitting down, he immediately barked, "What the hell are you doing here? Are you following us?"

"What reason would I have to follow you and your brother?" she asked, though they both knew she could have had plenty of reasons. She then sighed, _again_, and clucked her tongue. "No, I've been here for the past week or so. Maybe I should be asking you the same question."

Dean didn't as much as twitch. "No. You shouldn't."

"You're no fun," she responded, lifting a _Guns & Ammo_ magazine out of her bag and casually scanning through the pages. Dean waited for a few minutes, struggling between just leaving or smacking the magazine out of her hands, but then she closed the thing and set it down, looking back up at him once again.

"I'm assuming you're here on a case?" She guessed, crossing one of her tan legs over the other. Her voice took on a doubtful, yet amused tone. "Unless you two are on vacation...?"

"Yeah—I mean, no, we're—wait, why should I be telling you this, anyway?"

"Because I asked you an innocent question and it really wouldn't hurt you to answer," After Dean gave her a doubtful look of his own, she rolled her eyes. "I can assure you, I don't have a second agenda here."

The doubtful look didn't fall from his face and she brought up a single finger to massage one of her temples. "I'll tell you what _I'm _doing here if you'd just be so kind and answer the bloody question."

"You're here to screw up me and Sammy's case. That's a no-brainer," Dean huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bela's lips quirked up in a smile. "So, it _is _a case."

God damn it.

"Yeah, okay, so we're on a case. Big whoop," he snapped, struggling to keep his eyes firmly above her neckline, no matter how much he disliked her, the skin above her chest was thoroughly distracting. "Why are you _here_, then?"

"Definitely not to get entwined in the mess you and your brother are bound to make," she said, and Dean caught a hint of the pretentiousness from her that Sam had instructed him to carry himself with not that long ago. Dean mentally smiled. Bela fit perfectly here. "I'm actually here on a mission of my own, of sorts."

Dean scoffed. "Oh, so you've turned MI-6 on us?"

Bela narrowed her eyes. "Charming," she replied, lifting her hair over her shoulder. "No, I'm after a talisman. As soon as I have it in my possession I'm putting this place, and all of the distasteful people frequenting it, well behind me."

"And what does this talisman do? Besides provide scumbag thieves with a hefty sum of money," he said, and as he did so, Bela had started to gather her things and stand up. She did this so quickly, and with such elegant ease, that Dean hadn't even realized she was preparing to leave so that when she actually did get up, their bodies and faces were only inches away from touching. Instinctively, Dean attempted to crane his head back to give himself more room without _actually _moving his legs, lest he wanted to lose this battle. However, Bela made the task much more difficult as she leaned in, head slightly crooked to the side and eyes flickering softly between his own eyes and mouth.

When she spoke, her voice was a sultry whisper. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

And then she was off, swaying her hips all the way to the door, leaving Dean Winchester gaping—half-dazed, half-angered—in the goddamn dust.

* * *

><p>Sam had managed to clear most of the area of the club he had been designated, and now he was finally working his way into the workout center, where, thankfully, only a handful people were currently frequenting. As he entered the humid facility, he nodded and smiled at the attendee, briefly explaining that he was just checking the place out, before casually walking around the room, his hands in his pockets and senses on full alert.<p>

He started out with an old lady struggling on an elliptical in the corner of the room, but when he sniffed the air around her all he got a was a pungent whiff of baby wipes, lavender and old woman sweat. He made a face as he moved on, praying to god that the other potential basilisks smelt at least a slightly bit better.

He repeated the process with everyone else in the room: a young, overly tan guy doing bench presses; an attractive girl taking out all her anger on a punching bag; some hippie lady doing yoga with an equally hippie man; and, lastly, the attendee himself. When they all checked out, Sam inwardly groaned and hoped that Dean had better luck than he, and prepared to leave the facility.

As Sam was heading for the door, an older man—or, at least, a man who looked a few years older than Dean—who had just approached from the other side held the door open for the younger Winchester to pass through. Without as much as giving it a second thought, Sam gave the stranger a polite thanks before turning to find his brother, but then a peculiar odor wafted up his nose and stung his throat, making his eyes water as he spun around, realization hitting him like a sack of bricks.

The man had made his way to a treadmill near the front of the facility, but Sam was close enough to see it. If he squinted his eyes hard enough, he could just make out a faint patch of pale green scales disappearing underneath the collar at the back of his neck, and Sam was confident that if he happened to have some spare weasel urine on him, it'd burn the man's half-human, half-snake skin all to hell.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **This isn't vital but, if you wanna know, I kind of have the actor Scott Speedman in mind for the appearance of the basilisk. Not entirely, but mostly. That man's good-looking.

Furthermore, the Woodlands Country Club is an actual place, although I've never been. I'm sure it's lovely. I'm also pretty sure that it's not possible for people to book rooms and stay the night over there, but for the purposes of this fic, the Club is also serving as a resort. Just bear with me.


	2. Mirrors

**A/N: **Here's part 2. Don't forget to review/comment! Not only do they feed my ego, they make my day! (that is a joke. kind of.)

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><p>Immediately after Sam's discovery, he pulled out his phone and told his brother to meet him back in the room. Moments later and Sam was filling Dean in about everything he noticed about the basilisk—hair color, eye color, height, body figure, pungent odor, snake skin and all—while, directly afterward, Dean told his brother about his run-in with their old friend Bela. Or, more appropriately, old enemy.<p>

"What?" Sam frowned, sighing before shaking his head. "Well, this isn't good."

"Yeah, I could've told you that my damn self, Sammy," Dean replied, scratching his head impatiently. "I don't know what she's up to. She told me she's after some talisman, but I'm not sure I believe her. She kind of lost all trust privileges with all the crap she's pulled on us the last couple months."

Sam let out a final sigh. "For now, since we don't really know what her true motives are, we're just going to have to avoid her." He paused, realizing that this task would be very hard, before adding with a frown, "To the best of our ability."

"I _could_ just subdue her right now. Get it done and over with."

"We're not going to kill her," Sam pressed, slightly worried at the hint of eagerness he detected coming from his brother's voice. "Besides, Bela's the least of our problems right now, surprisingly. We need to find a way to kill the basilisk."

Dean made a face as if he was disagreeing with him, but Sam simply shrugged it off before turning and opening his laptop. Meanwhile, Dean had stripped out of his clothing and was now down to his T-shirt and boxer briefs, having let out an exaggerated sigh when he dropped his slacks to the floor and pulled his sweater over his head before plopping back down on the bed and cocooning himself in the comforter.

Sam continued to research for a while—in fact, for what was actually _hours_—and he had to nudge his brother with his foot in order to wake him before he could inform him of his findings. Dean, who had this oddly pleased look on his face, twitched awake with agitation at his brother's poking, and would have punched him for waking him had he not already begun talking.

"Mirrors," Sam simply said, walking back over to the laptop.

Dean scowled and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"_Mirrors_," Sam repeated, gluing his eyes to his laptop's screen. They darted back and forth as he read. "'The only way to kill a basilisk is to force it to look at its reflection. The reflection must be clear, so mirrors are the most preferred weapons, and eventually the basilisk will succumb to its own glare.'"

By now, Dean had stood up and walked over to read with Sam over his shoulder. "Sounds easy enough," he said with finality, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just tie the bastard down and hold a mirror in his face until his eyeballs melt in his head."

"We don't know if it'll be that easy, Dean," Sam called as his brother retreated into the bathroom. He turned back to his computer and prepared to pull up some more research pages when a quick knock sounded from the front door. He briefly frowned to himself, having not expected any visitors, before reaching for his pistol and tucking it behind his back.

When he opened the door, he realized he was right for grabbing his gun.

"Hello, Sam. How's your shoulder?" Bela said in greeting before eloquently pushing her way past him and inside. She walked over to the middle of the room, arms crossed, and did a one-eighty as she looked around—or, rather, _cased_—the boys' room.

"Scarred," Sam said with narrowed eyes, sighing impatiently. He didn't need this right now. "What do you want, Bela?"

"You and your brother sure do know how to treat a lady," she rolled her eyes, sitting down on the edge of Dean's bed. "I'm assuming he told you about our meeting at the pool."

At the pool? That would've explained the slight blush that had settled in Dean's cheeks as he told Sam of their run-in. He just thought his brother was getting red from anger.

Before Sam could answer, Dean came out of the bathroom, using the end of his T-shirt to dry off his face, which he had apparently washed during his time inside. Bela raised an intrigued eyebrow as Dean's toned midsection was revealed to her, but before she could stare—or comment—any further, he dropped his shirt and immediately glared at her.

"Oh, no, no," He huffed, pointing a finger at her. "You need to leave. Sammy, why'd you let her in here?"

"I didn't," he sighed, "She just walked in."

"Well, she can walk out just as easily," Dean said, walking over to her and preparing to wrap a hand around her upper arm. "Up and at 'em, Bela."

She shrugged her arm out of his grasp but stood up nonetheless. She didn't like the thought of both brothers looming over her like she was being interrogated by two temperamental, clumsy police officers.

"This talisman I'm after," Bela began, her eyes more fixed on Dean than the other Winchester brother, "It's a powerful thing, and I've been trying to get my hands on it for nearly a month. To no avail."

Dean scoffed. "Losing your touch?"

She looked him up and down; he was still in his underwear. "Shall I be saying the same thing to you? I heard you boys've recently run into a dry patch."

Sam's face curled up in confusion. "Wait—how did you even know about that?"

"I have my resources," she simply replied, refusing to elaborate any further. "I came here to ask for your help with this talisman. You two get a nasty little thing off the streets and I get a nice sum of money to pocket."

The boys traded glances and Bela looked between them both, waiting. When the brothers continued to stare at each other in thought, she sighed and added, "Fine. I'll give you both part of the profit, as well."

Dean was the first one to speak, his mouth twitching regretfully. "How much are we talking?"

"I'd say about twenty grand for you two to share," she replied, not bothering to tell them that she'd be receiving well over two-hundred grand herself for the talisman. "Sound like a deal?"

Sam and Dean exchanged looks again. They were definitely running low on money, especially with them renting out a suite out of a high-class resort for a week. Next, it was Sam's turn to relent, and he ran a hand through his hair as he let out a deep breath.

"Sure. We have a deal," he agreed, but then Dean was so in her face that she could feel his breath tickling her upper lip. She raised an eyebrow at his sudden movement, waiting for him to let out whatever he had to say.

"But if you even _think_ about screwing us over, I'll put a bullet between those pretty little eyes of yours." He growled, his voice low.

The corner of Bela's mouth slowly edged up in an amused half-smile. "You think my eyes are pretty?"

"What? No, I—" Dean gave up on trying to reply, realizing that Bela was only working his nerves. He didn't want her thinking he thought she was actually _attractive_ or anything. Which he did, but that wasn't the point. He hated her. That trumped his attraction to her above all else.

Bela alternated her eyes to Sam, deciding that he was the best brother to finalize deals with. "Very well, then. We'll start tonight. Meet me at the steakhouse at seven o'clock this evening." She turned to go, but right before she stepped out the door, she half turned to look at the boys again. "Oh, and dress nicely. This _is_ a formal restaurant."

She gave Dean a quick wink before disappearing behind the door.

* * *

><p>"<em>This<em> again," Dean groaned, glaring at his reflection in the full-body mirror propped up before him. He had just shrugged on the jacket of the grey sharkskin suit Bela had sent to his and Sam's room an hour or two after she left earlier that day, and now he was pulling at the collar of the black dress shirt that was coupled with it. "I _hate_ her."

Sam stepped up beside him in a suit of his own, one that Bela had also somehow managed to retrieve for him—a navy blue three-piece with a simple white shirt to compliment. Sam didn't hate wearing suits nearly as much as his brother did, but he had to admit he felt pretty confined in all of the layers he had latched on to his body.

"I just don't understand how she even knew our measurements back when we were handling the ghost ship," Sam replied, fixing the cuff of his shirt. "The things that woman knows about us frightens me."

"Especially since we know nothing about her," Dean grumbled, finally stepping away from the mirror and sitting down on the edge of his bed. "It makes me feel naked."

Sam snickered. "You nearly were when she was visiting us earlier today."

Dean snapped his head and glared at his brother. "Shut. _Up_."

The younger Winchester held up his hands at his sides in defense. "Alright, alright," he then turned and whispered, smirking to himself, "Prude."

A few minutes later and the boys had made their way down to the Club's built-in five-star restaurant, some dimly lit dinner-only place filled with snobby, wine-sipping diners and the polite tie-and-vest waiters serving them. Sam and Dean were immediately greeted by a hostess as soon as they stepped inside, her smile wide.

"Do you two have a reservation?"

"Yes, try under…." Sam began, only to trail off as he realized that Bela probably wasn't using her real name. He looked at his brother for assistance, but he was no help and simply raised his eyebrows in response. Luckily, though, Dean soon broke out in a completely fake grin and politely—as polite as he could get—gestured over to Bela, who was sitting alone at a round, white-clothed table.

"We're with the woman right there," Dean told the hostess, and she smiled and nodded and brought them over.

As they approached, Dean realized that she wasn't alone. In fact, sitting fairly close to her was some guy in a black suit, his head bent closely to hers as they talked. Dean's lips twitched in annoyance as he observed how close together the two were, although he told himself that he wasn't annoyed because of the fact that he might have been jealous, but just because she had left out the fact that this man would be joining them.

They were a few feet away from the table and Dean took this time to grab his brother's attention, who had been fiddling with the button on his cuff as it kept coming undone.

"Dude," Dean whispered, trying his best to seem casual, "Who's the dude?"

Sam hummed in response before looking up and laying his eyes on the man beside Bela.

No, not the man.

_The basilisk._

But before he could warn his brother they were already taking their seats at the table, their smiles wide but phony and giving their thanks to the hostess before she left.

Bela's eyes were bright but threatening—quite literally relaying to them not to _screw up_—as she introduced them to the basilisk. Sam highly doubted that she knew what the guy really was, as she wouldn't have been stupid enough to stick around if she did, but then again, they never really knew with Bela.

"Steven, these are the old family friends I told you about," She said, and Sam and Dean both noticed how her voice sounded so ridiculously _forged_. For one, all traces of her accent had been replaced by an American one, and not only that, but her voice lacked the trademark condescension they knew and very well didn't love. "Sam and Dean Connors."

Dean's ears twitched at the sound of Bela using one of his and Sam's old aliases, but he put on a friendly beam and shook hands with the guy sitting across from him nevertheless. "Steven, right? Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, what a small world, huh? Mina running into you two here, out of all places, after all these years." Sam and Dean briefly glanced at Bela who, with her hand resting casually on Steven's arm, widened her eyes at them in response, telling them to play along.

Sam cleared his throat. "Right, yeah," he turned his eyes on Bela. "How long has it been? What…f-four y…ears?" He struggled to find a common ground with Bela as she stared back at him.

She took in a breath as she tapped a finger against the side of her jaw in thought. "No, it's been _way_ longer than that. The last time I saw you two was when we were at that diner, remember?" She turned her head and smiled at Steven. "Poor Sam spilled hot coffee all over his lap. He was very down on his luck that day."

Sam clenched his jaw and let out a quiet breath through his nose. Dean himself wasn't faring any better; his knuckles were white as he gripped his kneecap under the table. Sam didn't know if he was angry at Bela _herself_ or at the image of Bela practically throwing herself at this snake-man in front of them, but he had better things to think about—like informing his brother that this "Steven" was their man in the first place. Well, snake-man.

Luckily, however, Steven's phone suddenly rang and he politely excused himself from the table, giving Bela a quick peck on the lips (if it was possible, Dean's knuckles turned even more white at this motion) before stepping outside of the restaurant and taking the call. Before Bela or Dean could so much as let out a single breath, Sam leaned forward and began to speak.

"Dean, that's _him_," he said quickly, not wanting to waste any time. Dean's eyebrows briefly furrowed before his mouth parted in realization and he glanced back to where Steven had gone off to.

"The snake bastard?"

"Yeah, that's the guy. The one I ran into earlier today at the workout center."

Bela raised a hand, her accent returning to her. "Wait, wait. _What_ in the world is going on? What're you talking about?"

"Hate to break it to you, _Mina_, but your boyfriend's a snake. You've been sleeping with a reptile." Dean said, his voice sounding weirdly satisfied.

"First of all, he's not my actual boyfriend and I have not slept with him," she said sharply, like she was scolding a young child. "_Second_, he's my target. I've been posing as his more or less 'girlfriend' for weeks trying to get that damned talisman off of him."

"A basilisk that also happens to have a powerful talisman in his possession," Sam groaned. "Just great."

"A what-now?" Bela frowned.

"A _basilisk._ You mean you had no idea about the _bodies_ that have shown up on the Club's property in the past week? How long have you and 'Steven' even been here?" Sam pressed.

She sighed as realization dawned on her. She sounded more frustrated than surprised. "About a week."

"Well, that definitely makes him our basilisk, if the skunk smell and snake scales wasn't confirmation enough," Dean responded. "You never told us what that talisman did in the first place, you know."

Before Bela could respond, Steven stepped back inside the restaurant and rejoined them at the table. Once he sat down they all offered him each a smile, making him looking between the three of them quizzically.

"Did I miss something?"

Bela shook her head. "No, we were just catching up. Trading stories and what not. Was that the office?" She gestured at his cell phone, which he was just slipping into his pocket.

"Yeah, sorry about this," he sighed, patting his pocket. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to take a rain check on dinner. Business calls." Bela put on a frown and Steven made a move to kiss her again, but this time on the cheek. As Steven began to get up, he smiled charmingly at the boys. "It was nice meeting you two. We should get together again later in the week. I promise I won't let work cut it short next time."

Dean shook Steven's hand, briefly glancing down and catching a very small, very faint patch of scales mostly hidden by the cuff of his dress shirt. Dean's grip tightened around his hand as he smiled tightly at him. If Steven noticed, he didn't let it show, and instead smiled one last time at Dean before exiting the restaurant and leaving the three of them alone once again.

After double-checking that he was really gone, Sam returned his attention to Bela. "Okay. The talisman. Spill."

Bela made a move as if to roll her eyes but didn't, and instead leaned back in her seat and folded her arms over her chest. "Like I said, it's very powerful. Now that I know what kind of…_thing_ Steven is, it'd make sense for him to have it." She paused. "I assume you two have heard of the Evil Eye charms? The ones that are supposed to ward off the infamous death glare."

"You mean the death glare that our dear Steven has been using to kill his victims? Yeah, we've heard of it," Dean said, impatience and sarcasm battling for control in his tone.

Sam gave his brother a look before more maturely adding, "I thought those things were just superstition? They don't really work against the glare."

"Typically, you'd be right," Bela agreed. "But _this_ one does. However, it's sort of a Catch-22. Not only does it protect from the death glare, it also projects it back on to the attacker itself. But sometimes it can backfire and end up only making the attacker's powers stronger."

"Sounds like it's more unstable than it is reliable," Sam observed.

Dean interjected. "Let me ask you something. Does your boy toy use mirrors?"

Bela's face flickered from confusion to exasperation in mere seconds, her face burning on his use of "boy toy", but she answered anyway. "Yes, he does. What does that have to do with anything?"

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. "Looks like our mirror tactic wasn't going to work out after all."

"But it does explain why Steven would have the talisman," Sam said to his brother. "It's the only thing that can kill him."

Dean smirked amusedly. "Besides weasel piss."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Bela rolled her eyes at Dean's immaturity and tipped her wine glass to her lips, which were outlined in a nude pink. "I don't even want to know what that means."

Dean voicelessly mocked her as she turned her head and observed the rest of the room.

"Bela, we need that talisman," Sam said to her.

"Well, that's what we're trying to achieve, right?" She replied, raising an eyebrow. "We worked out the deal."

"No. We _need_ that talisman," The younger Winchester pressed, and Bela's eyes darkened in grasp of what he meant.

"You must be joking. This again? It's like the rabbit's foot all over," Her voice had turned into one of half-reluctance, half-anger. "No way in hell."

"We'll give it back to you as soon as we're done with it," Sam tried to offer, but Bela shook her head in response.

"Knowing you two, something drastic is going to happen somewhere down the line and I'm out two-hundred-fifty grand," she snapped. "_No. Way._"

"Two-fifty? You damn cheat," Dean angrily countered, "You tried to sell us on a measly twenty thousand!"

"I didn't _try_ to sell, I _did_ sell," She corrected, lifting an accusatory finger. "You boys agreed to the amount."

Dean was getting angrier—and louder—by the second. "Only because we didn't know you'd be making a quarter million on the goddamn thing!"

Sam raised his hands between the two in a stopping motion, letting out a deep sigh as he did so. It was like taking care of six years olds, with Bela and Dean.

"You both need to calm down. You're drawing attention," Sam warned, slowly dropping his arms back to his sides. "Look, Bela, we'll bargain. We happen to have some profitable enough charms back in the Impala that you can have _if_ something happens to the talisman. Other than that, you let us use the thing to kill Steven. Do we have a deal?"

Bela angled her jaw as she flipped the deal over in her head. "How much would those charms get me?"

"I don't know, but well over seventy grand combined," he said casually.

Dean's eyes practically bulged out of his head. "You're telling me those stupid charms have been worth something this entire time? Dude, what the hell?"

Sam held up a finger to hush his brother (which Dean glared at but obliged to anyway) and patiently waited for Bela's response. After a few minutes, she sighed reluctantly.

"That's not nearly as much money as the talisman would get me, but very well. Chances are, even if I _did_ reject your deal, you would have found a way to mess things up anyway."

Sam pressed his lips together in a thin line and nodded as a waiter made his way to their table. "Yeah, you're probably right about that."


	3. Indication Enough

**A/N: **A little fluff...kind of?

Also, this chapter is a little shorter than the others. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"We need to make this fast. Steven will start to get suspicious if I'm gone too long."<p>

The three had relocated to the brothers' room in order to further discuss the problem at hand. Bela was currently leaning against the wall near Dean's bed where he himself sat and was also currently observing her out of the corner of his eye when he thought she wasn't looking.

He tried not to stare for too long, but mentally—and reluctantly—admitted to himself that she did look nice that night. Her brown hair was done up in a loose chignon (he learned this word while reading a wedding magazine on the toilet) and her body was adorned by a floor-length maroon gown, the sleeves and majority of the back made of lace. It didn't hurt that the neckline came down between her breasts in a deep V and a slit had been made in the side of the dress to reveal most of her left leg and thigh. Dean suddenly found himself becoming very hot, and he pulled at the collar of his shirt to provide himself some breathing room.

Bela noticed him checking her out, but she didn't say anything.

"Alright, first things first," Sam said, turning around to face the both of them. Dean had a strained look on his face while Bela was wearing an amused, knowing smirk. Sam didn't want to know or ask about either. "We need to figure out how to get that talisman without Steven noticing."

"I've tried numerous times," Bela began, crossing her arms over her chest. "He keeps it either on his person or locked up in a small chest. It's most likely protected by a spell, because no amount of lock picks could get the damn thing to open."

"Fine. We'll have to find a way to break the spell, then," Sam replied. "I'm going to need a picture of that chest. Sometimes the protection spells are specific to the items they're protecting. If I can find any information on the chest, then I'll probably be able to find out how to crack it open."

Bela nodded. "Yes sir," it came out like a mocking purr, but Sam ignored her and instead turned to his brother.

"Dean, I want you to run into Steven as much as you possibly can. Befriend him, or at least get on his good side. If he happens to be wearing the talisman it could be your chance to get it off of him."

Dean immediately frowned. "First of all, why do _I_ have to hang out with the creep? And second, are you trying to get me and my gorgeous eyeballs scorched?" He motioned at his face, his eyes widened for emphasis.

"He'll only attack you if he perceives you as a threat," Sam replied, trying to maintain his patience. "Bela's eyes are still in _her_ head. As long as you're friendly with him, you'll be fine. Trust me."

Dean slid his eyes in Bela's direction. "Oh yeah, I'm sure she's friendly with him, all right."

Bela angled her jaw and clenched her fists at her sides, looking as if she was desperately trying not to reach over and strangle him. "You're a bloody piece of work, you know that?"

"Oh, _I'm_ a piece of work?" Dean's eyebrows instantly shot up as he raised a hand to his ear. "Yeah, hello, kettle? It's pot—"

"_Enough,_ you two!" Sam exclaimed, completely and utterly exasperated with the both of them. Bela, who had pushed off the wall and raised her hand as if to punch Dean, paused with her fist midair as the two looked up to glare at the younger Winchester.

In an effort to try and calm himself, Sam let out a deep breath. "How are we supposed to get anything done with you two either on the verge of sleeping with or killing each other?"

Dean's face churned into a scowl. "Like hell I'd ever sleep with—"

Sam cut him off again. "Stop lying to us and yourself, Dean. We know you would." Bela's lips curled into a satisfied smile, but Sam pointed an accusatory finger in her direction as well. "And I know you'd sleep with him, too."

She lifted a shoulder in an innocent shrug. "I wasn't denying anything."

Dean briefly gaped at her but then quickly recollected himself and put a fake—or mostly fake—childish pout of anger on his face, refusing to acknowledge her existence any further.

However, Bela soon checked the time on the nightstand and clucked her tongue. "Well, I better go. I'll get into contact with you boys tomorrow morning to let you know what Steven will be up to for the day."

With a final lady-like wave of the hand, Bela left the brothers to themselves.

* * *

><p>The next morning, when Dean opened his eyes, Sam was not in the room. He briefly looked around before his eyes caught on a post-it on the lampshade beside him, which he quickly read before groaning.<p>

_Bela sent a picture of the chest. The talisman's inside. I went to the nearest library to pull up some more research on it. She said to meet her in her suite when you woke up. Room 508, top floor._

Dean groaned one last time before shoving the covers off of his half-naked form and stubbornly trudging over to the bathroom, where he quickly—and angrily—showered. Ten minutes later and he was leaving the elevator and stepping off on to the top floor, his jaw set in agitation as he found her room and knocked sharply on the door.

Bela answered almost immediately and when she opened the front door, her hair was slightly damp and she wore nothing but a plush white robe.

Her lips twitched up in a faint smirk as Dean struggled to find a place to fix his eyes. "You've caught me at a bad time."

For a moment he stared at her, briefly dazed by all of the thoughts whirling around in his head, before he realized she was talking to him.

"Tough shit," he said with narrowed his eyes after he had hastily gathered himself. Bela turned around and left the door open for him to enter, which he did. Bela herself snatched up a hangar from the closet and stepped inside the bathroom, only closing the door slightly and leaving Dean fighting the urge to crane his head and sneak a look inside. Before he could make a decision Bela emerged just as quickly as she went in, now clad in a charcoal sheath dress that highlighted all of her curves. She was just fastening a diamond stud in her ear when she crossed over to the dresser, fiddling with something in a velvet case.

Dean looked around the room, his eyes catching on a men's outfit neatly laid out on the large bed in the middle of the suite. "You said you've been at this job for how long?"

Bela sighed, although it wasn't directed at him. "About two or three months. I need to get it done quickly, though."

"And why's that?" She had turned around, a slinky bracelet made out of a chain of small diamonds pinched between her thumb and index finger. As she answered, she handed the bracelet to Dean and gestured for him to help her secure it around her wrist.

"Because Steven believes that we are actually seeing one another," She replied, her tone patient; calm. It was oddly…_soothing_ having an actual conversation with Dean. "Sooner or later he's going to expect more than harmless kisses from me."

She kept her eyes on him as he focused on trying to work the bracelet's clasp, his fingertips far too big and somewhat clumsy for him to handle the thing on his own. Still, she could have helped him, but she liked observing the gentle crease on his forehead as he concentrated; thought it was cute how his lips pursed together as he immediately comprehended what she meant.

The clasp made a small _tick_ sound as it held and Dean dropped his hands away from her hand. Bela's breath hitched quietly in her throat as his fingertips brushed against the bone in her wrist, her eyes flicking up to his for a brief moment before he cleared his throat and looked outside the window overlooking the Club's golf course. Bela quickly recollected herself and turned her back on Dean to pick up a pair of black heels she had previously discarded in the corner of the room.

"Do you like golf, Dean?" She asked after a few moments of awkward silence, and Dean looked back at her with a confused look on his face.

"Uh, not really, no," he replied.

She lightly clucked her tongue. "That's too bad."

Dean detected a hint of mischief in her tone and he fully turned around, suddenly weary of what she was up to. When she realized he was looking at her, she raised an eyebrow in faux innocence and gazed back at him through the mirror mounted on the wall before her.

"What?" he tentatively asked, bracing himself.

"Why must you always assume I am up to no good?"

"Because usually, you are."

Bela smirked. "You caught me there," she turned around and walked over to the bed, standing dangerously close to the ridiculous outfit sprawled out on the comforter. "You see…Steven felt awfully terrible about skipping out on dinner last night, and…."

Dean, having already realized where she was going with this, immediately started to walk hastily towards the door. As he passed her, he shoved a finger in her face. "_No._ No, no, no. Screw you."

"It's just a friendly game of golf!" Bela called, trying her best not to laugh. "A gentleman's sport."

Right before Dean slammed the door behind him, he snapped, "Well, find yourself a different gentleman!"

* * *

><p>An hour later and Dean was standing on the putting green, his jaw clenched so tight that his jowls had started to tremble. As soon as he left Bela's suite and stepped back into the elevator, Sam called his cell, already sounding thoroughly fed up for the day. They got into an argument but Sammy eventually managed to remind Dean that he was to get on Steven's good side, even if that meant being thrown into <em>another<em> ridiculous get up and playing a few rounds of the most boring sport ever with a reptile in clothing.

So there Dean was, leaning against a borrowed putter in a vibrant yellow and white polo shirt and pair of cream slacks, a brown cabby hat positioned on his head and his lips twitching out of strain from the fake smile he had plastered there as well as the anger he was actually feeling. Still, that didn't stop him from clapping when Steven's golf ball sunk into the hole with a dull _glop_.

"You play golf often, Dean?" Steven asked him, retrieving his ball out of the hole.

"Uh, not really, no," He replied, recalling his words from earlier. They came out a little more bitten back than he had meant them to, but Steven didn't notice.

"Ah, that's too bad," Steven responded. "I personally love the sport. I find it calming."

Dean nodded. "Many people do."

It was quiet for a moment as they moved on from the hole, then Steven spoke up again. "It was a shame your brother couldn't join us."

"Yeah, poor Sammy caught a bad bout of food poisoning," he leaned forward and shielded his mouth with the back of his hand. "I don't want to blame the restaurant or anything, but just call yourself lucky you had to go take care of business last night."

Steven nodded. "Yeah. Sorry about that, by the way. The business I'm in can be a bit demanding."

"Yeah, B—_Mina_ never mentioned what you did for a living," Dean replied, quickly catching himself before he blew their covers all to hell.

"I work for the Smithsonian, but I'm always traveling. I acquire unique artifacts for them all over the world." Dean smiled to himself. His job description sounded awfully close to Bela's, although less shady. "What about you?"

"Oh I don't really _work_, per se," Dean shrugged, getting ready to tee off. "Sam and I come from old money. We dabble in vintage cars from time to time, but what we really enjoy is hunting."

Steven raised his eyebrows. "Hunting? I'd never pegged you two as the sort. Are we talking deer, ducks? Rabbits?"

"We're talking everything," Dean said, smacking the ball with a satisfying _ping_. Okay, maybe he could understand why some people liked golf.

"Hm. Interesting," Steven nodded. "I'm a hunter myself."

Dean refused the urge to give him an ironic smile. Instead he looked over his shoulder and said, "No kidding?"

"No kidding."

Most of their later conversation ran similarly to that, but by the last hole, they were talking about Bela. Well, actually, they were talking about Mina. Apparently she told Steven that her name was Mina Chandler and she was a museum curator from New York. They met at a business conference a few months ago and immediately hit it off, with their shared love for historical and rare artifacts and what not. As he listened to the obviously bullshit story Steven recited to him, Dean struggled not to laugh in the poor guy's face. Sure, Steven was a murdering monster that definitely needed to be stopped, but he obviously liked Bela a lot, if the way he talked about her was indication enough. But then again, he clearly liked a version of her that was entirely fictional; one that she made up in order to appeal to his preferences.

Steven didn't know the real Bela. He didn't know how she could be a major pain in the most sensitive part of your ass, didn't know how she thrived on getting a kick out of others. He didn't know the pitch of her accent and how it was thicker on some words more than others; didn't know how his name sounded as it was tossed around in her mouth and wrapped in that British drawl that could make the Queen of England herself shiver with anticipation. He didn't know the curve of her smile—her _actual_ smile, the one that Dean had seen himself on more than one occasion, and not the one that she so clearly forced when she was in Steven's presence. He didn't know her like Dean knew her.

And sure, Dean pretended to hate her, but he obviously liked Bela a hell of a lot, if the way he secretly thought about her was indication enough.


End file.
